


LOTR One-shots and More

by TheHobbitsAragone



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: A lot of love going around, Also Thranduil being an asshole anyway, Aragorn being angsty, BAMF Glorfindel, BAMF Haldir, Baby Legolas Greenleaf, Drunk Thranduil, Elladan and Elrohir wreaking havoc, Elrond is so done, Elven wine is really strong, Elves being fabulous, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Gen, Getting real tired of your shit Thranduil, I will add more tags later, Legolas being a sweet innocent smol bean, M/M, Me collecting precious elf tears, Multi, Oops I literally shipped Legolas with every single living being, Poor Elrond, This is going to take very long to write, Thranduil Not Being An Asshole, Thranduil being angsty, fluffy stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-06-14 15:19:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15391638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHobbitsAragone/pseuds/TheHobbitsAragone
Summary: Welcome to Middle Earth, where life tends to be a mix of adventure, danger, love, fluff, and angst. A lot of angst. But hey! We've got some very good Dorwinion wine, and semi-willing elves ready to tell their stories after a glass or two. Join me as our characters get into trouble, cause mischief, get hurt, find love, and try to survive.P.S: I'm a beginner, please don't judge me. Also, I do not own anything in this wonderful, wonderful fandom.





	1. A work of art (AragornxLegolas)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aragorn builds up the courage to confess to Legolas while they are camping in the woods, but what will their travel companions, Elladan and Elrohir, make of it?  
> As the two of them claimed, "a work of art."

Aragorn tossed and turned on his “bed” (a thin blanket spread on the ground- not at all a protection against the roots currently digging into his back), exhausted from the day’s activities and yet restless at the same time. A mistake, as he came face to face with the cause of his anxiety: Legolas.

Oh, yes. That loveable, affectionate, perfect ellon. His best friend and his worst tormentor. Also very creepy. Aragorn had gotten used to elves sleeping with their eyes open after years of living in Rivendell, but he had not gotten used to Legolas pretending to be asleep and then scaring him. Sneaky little bastard…

Of course, Legolas was not little at all, being well near 3000 years old. He also was not a bastard, being the heir of a highly revered king who wouldn’t hesitate to chop his head off if one strand of Legolas’ golden hair was tainted. Both very logical points that Aragorn tried to make to himself to get rid of his strange thoughts about the elf. Both still not enough to sway his heart.

Now, what were these strange thoughts, and why was the great leader of the Dunedain acting so odd? Well, to be honest, he didn’t quite know either. He was onto something, which made him even more anxious and restless, which led to him spending many sleepless nights pondering this issue until his head felt like it was exploding. And what could possibly be better for a mortal man than not being able to sleep?

Aragorn sighed again as he laid on his back and draped an arm over his eyes, trying to forget about all of this and sleep for a change since… Oh, Eru. When had been the last time he’d gotten a solid, good night’s sleep? He couldn’t even remember.

“What troubles you, mellon?” 

“AH-bsolutely nothing, why do you ask?” Aragorn tried to cover up his yelp of surprise, blushing and resolutely facing away from the elf next to him. All futile attempts and an insult to the wit of Legolas and that of elves in general, as both of them realized. Legolas, deciding to be polite, held his silence, knowing that Aragorn would confess willingly in 3...2...1…

“Legolas?” Aragorn turned to his side to face Legolas and tell him the truth, his heart triumphing over his head in his sleep deprived state.

“I am here, Aragorn,” the Elven prince smiled reassuringly at his friend, waiting patiently to hear whatever the ranger had to say. He’d been taught by his naneth to be there for his friends in times of need, and he wouldn’t dare dishonor her memory. Besides, he cared deeply for Aragorn. 

_ Too deeply, perhaps.  _ Legolas mentally rolled his eyes at the dry voice in his head which sounded remarkably like his father. Now is not the time to be in your head, Legolas. Listen to your friend and offer him some sound advice like the elf that you are meant to be.

“You know that I care deeply about you, Legolas. Don’t you?” Aragorn stared straight into Legolas’ eyes, stamping down the insecurities that attacked him as he tried to speak.

Legolas frowned, suddenly having doubts and insecurities of his own. Still, he managed to nod and assure his friends that the feeling was quite mutual. After all, slaying orcs and other foul creatures while travelling in the woods tended to have a strong bonding effect between most people.

“Well, I do sense that, but I… you are very dear to me, Legolas. More than I imagined you would be. Alas! I am but a blip in your very long life, and my passing will be nothing to you…” Aragorn said bitterly, but Legolas sensed true hurt in his words, and knew that these were more than midnight ramblings. Still, he was surprised. Aragorn was a very stoic man by rule, and it had seemed to Legolas that his mortality did not bother him. Perhaps it was his doomed love for the Evenstar that made him think of such things.

“You pine for the Evenstar. It’s understandable, of course. She is the most beautiful maiden born since Tinuviel, and her heart is made of gold,” Legolas relayed his conclusion, feeling a tinge of disappointment even as he reassured Aragorn of his good choice.  _ Fool that I was… He would be repulsed by me if he knew... _

“N-no! You misunderstand! I… I cannot put into words…”

Aragorn was quickly becoming frustrated. Did he truly have to profess his love in Elvish poetry before Legolas could finally understand? He could not find a way to express how he felt, so he did what any desperate man would do.

“Elbereth help me.”

He kissed Legolas.

Thoughts and emotions- from relief and love to anxiety and embarrassment to euphoric passion- swirled through his mind in a wild hurricane, racing with an unstoppable energy that made him forget to breathe. 

Neither of them really noticed how long they remained in that position, nor did they stop and think that they might get caught by Elladan and Elrohir who were keeping watch. There was only the two of them, enveloped in each other’s arms, silently confessing long hidden feelings under the starlight.

Soon after, Elladan and Elrohir made their way back to their travelling companions to wake them for their watch, but let them be once greeted by the beautiful sight of Legolas’ elven fairness in contrast with their adopted brother’s rustic, human appearance as they slept together.

“Let them rest tonight,” Elladan said to his younger twin, a kind smile gracing his Noldor features and making him look eerily like their father. 

“Yes, but I will be very sorry indeed if I miss the opportunity to mercilessly tease the two of them come morning,” Elrohir grinned in mischief, already formulating his plans. Elladan, instantly reading his mind as twins are bound to do, smirked in agreement before they made the necessary preparations.

To this day, there is still in the household of the descendants of Aragorn a painting of a man and an elf locked in an embrace on the ground, covered in nothing but pink flower petals. “A work of art”, as its makers proclaimed, but one that was not showcased in Rivendell due to the embarrassment of all parties. Well, except for that one time when the twins sent a replica of it to Mirkwood...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys so this was my first M/M fanfic. Big milestone. I'm super proud. Well I mean the writing quality could have been better but I am too tired right now and I just want to post.  
> Also: I'm working on two new chapters, and I hope to post them soon, cause I know that they're gonna be good. So look forward to that!


	2. Wingless Angel (ElrondxThranduil)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond- our beloved elf-lord. Strong, wise, and kind. But when tragedy strikes, who will be there to help him?  
> A wingless angel...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you haven't given up on me yet, because HERE IS YOUR UPDATE! FINALLY!  
> Yeah, I know. I was a jerk. I ignored y'all for more than a month. But here is this delicious chapter as a peace offering!  
> This is going to have a sequel, so be on the lookout for that!  
> Anyway have fun reading!

“Be strong for me, meleth…”

“No! Don’t leave, Celebrian! Lasto beth nin, tolo dan nan galad! Hodo. Le beriathar aen. Dartho, aniron!” Elrond begged, unable to hold back tears as he witnessed his wife fade in his shaking arms. The love of his life, the mother of his children, the flame of his fea was fading, and he could do nothing to prevent it. The pain rendered him weak, and he despised his own helplessness. Already he could feel himself slowly beginning to fade, but to see his beloved’s skin turn deathly pale and hear her beautiful voice grow weak and hoarse in moans of pain and delirious mutterings was even more torturous.

“L-le melin, Elrond…” 

The words, though spoken in soft whispers, rang loudly in Elrond’s ears. He couldn’t feel anything but the absence of that most natural thing which had always been there: his wife’s heartbeat thudding reassuringly in sync with his own. He frantically felt for a pulse though he knew it was not there, muttering in disbelief and shaking Celebrian’s body as if to wake her, but her hands remained cold and her eyes glazed.

A heartbreaking cry resounded through the halls of Imladris, followed by a piercing moment of silence before the whole city’s voice raised in lament. 

She was gone.

* * *

The ruler’s office was seldom so unorganized. Papers of the utmost importance were strewn carelessly across the floor and the sharp remains of a shattered ink pot were left on the desk, the black substance that once filled the pot drying up on the polished wood. The elf lord himself was sitting back defeatedly in his chair, toying with a piece of broken glass even as it cut through his hardened skin. His gaze was unfocused and hard to read, the way it always was whenever he was thinking deeply. The scent of the small, stuffy room -old books and well-brewed tea- that always comforted him had turned pungent with the smell of his own sweat and blood. He rarely left the room these days- it was the only place that didn’t carry her sweet scent and drive him insane.

“May I come in?”

Thranduil. The stubborn man who had initially been reluctant to become his friend and now simply wouldn’t leave him alone. 

Elrond sighed. He hadn’t been expecting a visit so soon, given how far away Mirkwood is. If he had been in a better state of mind, he would have been moved by the effort that Thranduil had put into visiting him as soon as possible. If he had been better composed, he would have stood and opened the door for his guest, calling immediately for the Miruvoir that his friend seems so fond of. For now, though, he settled for an affirmative grunt.

The door opened and closed gently, and the small part of Elrond’s brain that was still working told him to stop acting like a petulant elfling and appreciate Thranduil’s consideration. Usually, he would have walked right through with a half finished bottle of wine in his hand, launching into a rant about the many flights of stairs that he’d had to climb to get to “this damned broom closet”.

“Well, hello to you too,” the king gave Elrond a playful smile as he sat down on a stool, brandishing the item he’d been carrying behind his back- a well aged bottle of Miruvoir, surprisingly untouched. Elrond rolled his eyes fondly before declining his friend’s generous offer.

“My one triumph these few days has been to avoid succumbing to such vices before I fade. Do you want to crush that one small victory as well?”

“And whose victory would it be? If there is one thing that I have learned in my long life, it is that wine-” a loud popping sound came as the cork flew off “- may make a fool of you, but it certainly drives away such ridiculous thoughts as fading.” Elrond doesn’t know where Thranduil had gotten the glasses from, or when he had poured drinks for them, but he was acutely aware of the full glass of wine that Thranduil was patiently waiting for him to take.

“You think that I jest,” Elrond said with no real curiosity, taking a sip of his drink as requested and feeling a bit sullen as Thranduil’s prediction came true. Even the slight warmth of one sip made him forget the slight physical pain that signified the beginning of the fading process.

“And you forget that I speak from experience,” Thranduil said smoothly, taking a sip of his drink to appear nonchalant. He always tried to hide behind his mask whenever he felt any pain. Elrond knew this better than anyone else.

Finally, Thranduil dropped his act, heaving a long and weary sigh. 

“Elrond…” he began, struggling to choose his words for the first time in his life. One word and his dear old friend could collapse in agony, beginning to fade.

“She was a good woman, and you were good to her. That is all that matters.” Simple and short, that’s how he did it. He knew that all the words left unsaid were heard by the both of them. There was no need to cause his friend to shed more tears when he clearly didn’t have the strength to do so. Thranduil redirected his thoughts away from Elrond’s poor state. His strong body that now seemed so small as it disappeared in his thick robes. The new wrinkles that creased his hot forehead. The sickly, yellow tone of his skin, beaded with sweat. Oh no, none of that. Everything was perfectly fine.

Suddenly, Elrond spoke up.

“Night after night, the restless thoughts come to me. Should I have let her go before her suffering began? Was it my fault that she’d been captured by those foul beasts? Has she forgiven me?”

Tears flowed from his eyes, but he didn’t make a sound. His air of resignation had been replaced by fresh feelings of hurt and sadness, and Thranduil struggled to hide his own emotions. He had to be strong for both of them.

“You mustn’t say such things!” Thranduil was suddenly alarmed at the volume of his own voice. Elrond shook his head, not wanting to hear any of it. There was a tense moment of silence, before Thranduil took a deep breath and spoke up in a much softer voice.

“Do you remember when you came to my side to comfort me all those years ago?”

Elrond perked up, surprised that Thranduil would breach such an intimate subject. His wife’s death, though having occurred thousands of years ago, still affected him greatly. He prepared himself to listen. Whatever Thranduil meant to say was clearly serious.

“You cared for Legolas and listened to my heartbroken words. You never flinched away when I descended into a drunken rage, nor when I cried like a child. You held me when I couldn’t sleep, when the shadows of the night called back her ghost, and I couldn’t…” a pause as the elf collected himself, careful not to let his voice break. Deep breaths and shaky exhales, and then he continued.

“I want to help you, mellon. The same way that you helped me. Let me take the hurt away.”

The king was kneeling in front of Elrond’s seated figure, his face inches away from the other’s. His emotions that he usually meticulously schooled into an indifferent mask were now bursting through his light-colored eyes.

“Please.”

Neither of them knew exactly what happened at this point. Who had moved in first? Who had broken the unspoken barrier that had existed between them so long? All Elrond could know for certain was that they were doing something wrong.

But how could it feel so right?

Why was it that the feeling of Thranduil’s soft lips on his own had made him smile for the first time in the past few days? Why had his sad little heart begun pounding anew, when all it had been doing up until this moment was to hurt and ache?

Why was he kissing back?

He didn’t know, and he didn’t try to force himself to figure things out. Elrond only melted into Thranduil’s embrace, trusting him, quite literally, with his soul. 

They say that an angel with severed wings can fly higher than all the rest, because he can stoop to help those who kneel on the floor. That night, Thranduil was Elrond’s wingless angel. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I know I used some Elvish in the beginning. Don't let that intimidate you.  
> "Meleth"= love (term of endearment)  
> "Lasto beth nin, tolo dan nan galad! Hodo. Le beriathar aen. Dartho, aniron!"= Listen to my words, return to the light! Rest. You will be protected. Please, stay!  
> "Le melin"= I love you  
> "Mellon"= friend  
> Here's my source for my poorly done translations: http://www.elvish.org/gwaith/movie_fotr.htm  
> I also realize that this chapter had great potential for a soft and fluffy lemon but I don't do those so if anyone wants to do that please be my guest cuz we all know that both Elrond and Thranduil deserve some lovin'  
> Please be on the lookout for the follow-up chapter that is coming soon! Or maybe not so soon but there is going to be a sequel!  
> K bai


	3. True Love Isn't the Kind you See in Storybooks- pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Legolas: a soft-spoken, poetic adolescent who prefers to lose himself in fantasy rather than witnessing the remnants of his once beautiful home crumble. As he nears maturity and starts to become more and more independent, he decides to go on his first trip alone. Destination? The magical land of Rivendell. He is excited to speak to fellow thinkers and artists, but when his eyes land on a certain handsome elf, will it be too much to handle?  
> This is only part one of a short fic series. Not much happens here, but this is the first chance I've gotten to update up until now, so I took it. Merry (belated) Christmas, everyone!

_ “Such was the virtue of the land of Rivendell that soon all fear and anxiety was lifted from their minds. The future, good or ill, was not forgotten, but ceased to have any power over the present. Health and hope grew strong in them, and they were content with each good day as it came, taking pleasure in every meal, and in every word and song.” _

The words were spoken by a soft voice. It wasn’t quite the gruff rasp of a man, nor the rich, velvety tones of an elf. It was young and filled with emotion, a bit breathless from the lack of pause and excitement. Passionate, but never overwhelming. It felt much like a brush of satin against your fingertips- smooth and delicate and sensual, making you reach out for more.

But the quiet boy swinging his legs to and fro from his seat of the sturdy branch of an oak tree wasn’t heard by anyone but the bright stars above him, slowly fading to reveal the coming dawn. It was those glittering, silver jewels that he serenaded in hushed tones, his book laying in his lap as the words rolled off of his tongue, long memorized.

Legolas couldn’t remember when he’d first read the book, only that he’d been instantly enamoured by the seemingly fictional city that was mentioned in it.

_ Rivendell… _

The sparkling fountains and neatly trimmed gardens and softly trickling rivers seemed so different from the reality of his own home, slowly becoming poisoned and fading. The tree he sat on hummed in agreement, speaking of an immeasurable pain that made Legolas’ heart ache for the defenseless inhabitants of the plagued forest.

_ No, no. I mustn't think of such things. _

He hopped down from the tree branch with grace, giving the tree a small pat of thanks before walking back towards the magnificent castle that was his home. There would be plenty of time to recite poetry in Rivendell. For now, he needed to lie down for a while and pretend that he has been asleep before beginning his journey.

His soft footsteps on the stairs woke no one, and as he slid underneath the covers of his bed and awaited the sunrise, he let out a soft sigh of contentment.

_ Rivendell. _

* * *

Morning crept softly upon the Woodland realm. However dark the shadows were in Mirkwood, the mornings remained bright and filled with the chirping of birds and trickling of rivers. With hopeful thoughts and a spring in his step, Legolas hurriedly gathered his pre-packed bags and rushed off to the stables where Calroch, his dear old horse, awaited him for the fantastic journey.

“Woah there, young ellon.”

Legolas yelped in surprise as he skidded to a sudden halt. Grabbing him by the collar and hiding his fond smile was none other than his father, King Thranduil of Mirkwood.

“Good morning, Adar,” Legolas said breathlessly, dropping into a quick bow and standing again, unable to wipe the grin off of his face.

“Ai, settle down, Legolas. You’re not going anywhere until you’ve had breakfast and fixed those god-awful braids,” the King said fondly, smoothing over the fabric of his son’s tunic and ignoring the pout he received from the boy with a skill that comes only with years of experience in raising a child.

“But, Ad-”

“But nothing, Legolas. No son of mine will present himself in public with his hair looking like a dwarf’s beard.” The matter-of-fact tone of the reply forced Legolas into silence, following his father until they reached the King’s room. 

“I wanted for us to spend a few moments alone before you leave, Ion,” Thranduil admitted as they sat on the bed, the affectionate nickname slipping out in his sincerity. He gestured for Legolas to turn around and began to loosen the young elf’s braids, running a comb through the pale blonde strands. He fingered at the hidden streaks of silver, smiling painfully.  _ Just like his mother… _

Legolas sighed, all too familiar with this particular habit of his father’s. Thranduil’s rhythm faltered before he shook his head and continued with the small task.

He was worried. He was so, very worried. To him, Legolas was a mirror of his mother- a powerful soul trapped in a delicate form. So pure, so malleable. He knew that Legolas was nearing maturity. He knew that his son had to go through certain trials in order to earn his worth and become a confident, successful young ellon. And yet, every time he imagined those youthful, bright blue eyes being cast down with the weight of wisdom, he felt less willing to let Legolas go. He debated what would be worse: seeing his son’s crestfallen face as he denied him permission to go or the realization of one of the thousands of horrific scenarios that had run through his mind throughout the week if the trip somehow went wrong.

These thoughts ran through his mind as he mindlessly braided Legolas’ soft hair, nodding stiffly at the quiet “thank you” that came from the young ellon. 

“Legolas…”

Doe-like blue eyes met startling silver ones as father and son sat together in silence. Thranduil had so much to tell him that he didn’t know where to begin. Twice he tried to speak and failed. 

“I will miss you, Ion nin,” he said softly, deciding not to burden Legolas’ young heart with his worries. He was shocked when Legolas wrapped his arms around his large frame in a careful embrace.

“I will miss you more, Ada.”

Finally, Legolas let go of his father and stood, bowing down completely with a final farewell.

“I will not let you down, my King.”

Legolas’ sharp footsteps grew softer and softer as Thranduil stared at where he had stood mere seconds ago.

“I know you will not… my son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! It's been a LONG TIME. I literally wrote this just now because I haven't had a single chance to write fics until now. I know it's short, but! But. This chapter is part of a short fic series, so there will be more content to follow. For now, this has been TheHobbitsAragone! Merry (belated) Christmas!  
> Also, you guys probably know this stuff, but just in case:  
> Ion= son  
> Ion nin= my son  
> Ellon= male elf  
> Adar= father (formal)  
> Ada= dad (informal)  
> Bye! Sleep well!


	4. Elven Rhapsody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was watching Bohemian Rhapsody and I couldn't put this scenario out of my head. A short, angsty LegolasxAragorn.  
> Enjoy!

_ “We’re getting married!” _

The couple could hardly hide their excitement, and rightfully so. Arwen’s hand, which had been vacant before, was now graced by the presence of a beautiful, elf-crafted golden band that was undoubtedly an engagement ring. A proud Aragorn stood by her side, holding her in a way that radiated pure love and happiness. His handsome face was tinted red as he smiled timidly at the ground. It was only when his startlingly beautiful grey eyes met Legolas’ gaze that the young elf remembered that he had to reply.

“Oh, are you, now?” Legolas asked softly, his fingers flying to mess with his braid in a nervous habit. He let out a small, breathless chuckle. It was pathetic, really, how easily his life unraveled at a few words from his… friend? Love? No, no. The bond he shared with Aragorn was too deep, too complex to be summarized by such meaningless words. 

“Legolas?” Arwen asked cautiously, reaching out to her childhood friend. This lack of reaction from loving, supportive Legolas didn’t sit well with her. Right then, Legolas turned to her with a bright smile and shining eyes, and the wet laugh that bubbled up from within him relieved her. Everything was fine.

Legolas let his tears stream down his face freely, no longer caring about keeping his composure. For a while, he could only laugh. Out of happiness for them. Out of pity for himself. Out of how fate, in a beautiful display of its power, had toppled his world over without so much as an apology.

Finally breaking free of his brief spell and smiling wide, he pulled the lucky, newly affianced couple into a gentle hug.

_ Eyes, look your last.  _ He nearly snorted as the quote came to mind- the situation was far too tragic to be compared to that hideous mortal play, Romeo and Juliet.

As he welcomed them with open arms, he could feel his arteries freezing slowly, refusing to support his long shattered heart. He felt the warmth of their bodies against his own, but the familiar warmth did nothing to stitch back the scratches and tears in the beating muscle in his chest.

“I’m happy for you.”

And he truly was, even if the shine of his eyes and the ache in his heart screamed otherwise. They were the perfect couple- a match made not only in heaven but in their own hearts. Truly, Legolas must have been either daft or simply stubborn to not realize that the two would end up together sooner or later. 

Slowly, the three separated, Arwen and Aragorn relieved at receiving the blessing of one of their best friends.

“Thank you, mellon nin.” 

Oh, and there he was. Aragorn, that beautiful man, that waxen statue. That selfless, golden warrior who had brightened Legolas’ youth with countless adventures and fond memories. Legolas struggled not to sob as more tears blurred his vision.

“No, thank you, Aragorn. If it wasn’t for you-” Legolas caught himself, breathing deeply so he wouldn’t start openly sobbing.

“If it wasn’t for you, my three thousand years of life would have meant nothing. I hope that you will be happy for many years to come, and that the two of you will love each other dearly and make for a wonderful, loving family.”

The words came with difficulty now as he got closer and closer to what he really wanted to say, but Legolas knew that it was now or never. 

With shaky steps and a heart brimming with affection, Legolas stepped closer to the man until there was less than a few inches of space between their faces. He looked up into the hypnotizing grey of Aragorn’s eyes, and closed them, leaning forward slowly.

_ And lips, O you the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss. _

And holding his best friend and only love in a sweet embrace while bestowing a loving kiss upon his forehead, Legolas dared to whisper the fact that consumed his daily thoughts. A simple statement whose true meaning the other would never understand nor reciprocate.

“I love you, brother.”

_ Nothing really matters _

_ Anyone can see _

_ Nothing really matters... _

_ To me. _


End file.
